on waking up to april

last week the back door of my house shattered. there wasn’t a big noise or the sickening thud of a bird hitting the glass. but the cracking spread across the whole door until it was new, smashed in a thousand pieces.

i keep looking at it in all the lights hoping that before it is replaces i’ll grow to appreciate something about it. i keep looking at it thinking about being a teenager and how i would have loved to take photographs of all the glinting light. i keep looking because for the first few days we could barely go in or out without a little shutter. it had the feeling that it might keep shattering or suddenly fall out of its frame into a pile on the floor.

and then the weather shifted and the door filled with condensation, the clouds were in the door in the morning, or after the dew point of the afternoon.

the door felt like now. the door felt like coming into april.

this is the part where it would be clever to have a metaphor easy to reach for that wrapped up the moment of shattering and 2025 and the wobbly world but really it wasn’t like that. it was strange and ordinary and reminded me that i don’t need to know why everything happens.

and that also on that day there was a sick child, there was drinking tea together on the couch, there was the flash of blue sky that only spring has, there were battered petals from the plum tree, there the loads of laundry, there was work.

i don’t know about you but i find myself so often right now asking, what does it all mean? but i am not often asking myself what do i know right now? what is the place of return?

i suppose i say this because i think this is a practice, i think it is creative, and i think it is something we can do in the face of despair.

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there will another note sent out with chances to get together for the month! look out for that and i can’t wait to see some of you soon!